


The Contract

by jor77



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 12:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13811481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jor77/pseuds/jor77
Summary: On Jason's first birthday since returning from the dead, Bruce shows up at his door with a blast from the past.





	The Contract

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to A Most Regrettable Argument.
> 
> Inspired by a comment from the user rpglady76:
> 
>  
> 
> _"Lol. I remember this from way back when, I liked the addendum you added. I can see Batman showing up where Red Hood is with a laptop, because it's Jason's birthday and he's contractually obligated to watch the video with Jason. (Jason probably forgot it was his birthday, but watching the video with Bruce would be a tiny step in improving their relationship.)_
> 
>  
> 
> _And of course by the time Stephanie, Damian, Duke, etc. have all joined the Batfam, everyone looks forward to Jason's birthday because it's the only time they get to see the video."_

_**THUMP THUMP THUMP** _

Jason jerked awake. “The fuck.” he mumbled. He instinctively grabbed the handgun attached to the underside of his bed and paced out of the bedroom. He tentatively approached the door of his apartment. “Who is it?”

“Bruce.” answered the voice on the other side of the door.

Jason cocked the gun.

He opened the door and aimed the piece at Bruce’s forehead. “Fuck off.”

“Can I come in?”

“Wha—No!” fumed Jason. “Do you see the fucking gun, asshole?”

“If you didn’t want me to come in, why did you open the door?” Bruce reasoned.

“So I could get a clean shot at your fucking skull, you piece of shit.” spat Jason.

“You aren’t going to shoot me Jason… not in the head at least.”

“Why are you holding a laptop?” asked Jason. “Y’know what? Never mind, I don’t care. Pip pip cheerio fucker.” He slammed the door in Bruce’s face, which felt _really_ good. Jason almost wanted to open the door, so he could do it again.

“I’m contractually obligated to be here.” Bruce rumbled. 

_What?_

A piece of paper slid under the door. Jason picked it up while still aiming his gun at the approximate location of Bruce’s head. Jason recognized the handwriting, his own:

_This contract states that you, the fuckass Bruce Wayne, agree to let me, the handsome and cool Jason Todd, kick you square in the nads. I’m going to kick that motherfucker right in the scrote. punt that nutcase right in his nutbag, wallop that shithead right in his ballsack, footpunch the prick right in the di--_

It went on like that for a while, Jason skipped to the end of page three:

_A documentary will be made of the event by Dickbert Grayson, which Bruce will have to watch with Jason every year on his birthday. Failure to comply with the terms of this contract will result in Bruce paying Jason a fine of 1 sick Lamborghini._

“I don’t think this contract will be binding in a court of law. It changes from first to third person constantly. And it appears to be written in gel pen.” mocked Jason. “Besides, it’s not even my birthday.”

“…Yes it is.” Bruce countered. “August 16th.”

Jason checked the date on his phone. “ _Huh_. Completely lost track of time, thought it was still July. Anyway, I’d be happy with the Lambo so you can just take your movie and fuck off.”

“If you don’t let me in I’m going to call Dick _and_ Barbara _and_ Alfred _and_ Tim and we’re all going to tie you down and watch it together.”

Jason sighed, head slumped against the door. “How long is it?”

“78 minutes.” answered Bruce.

“With credits?”

“Yes.”

Jason opened the door. “You leave the _millisecond_ it’s over.” demanded Jason. “Understood?”

“Understood.” Bruce uttered as he entered the apartment.

 

 

Jason sat as far away from Bruce as he could on the couch. The laptop rested on the coffee table in front of them, playing the film. It was shockingly boring, Dick’s inexperience as a first-time filmmaker was on full display.

“In all those years of teaching Dickie how to fight the mentally ill in panties you couldn’t have also taught him anything about shot composition?” Jason bitched.

“I’m enjoying the film.” rebuffed Bruce. “It reminds me of a… happier time.” Bruce glanced over at Jason. Jason pointedly did not return the glance, focusing his gaze on the poorly shot interview with Alfred. God, Jason fucking _missed_ Alfred.

“What does it say about us that a _happier time_ was when we had an argument where you said something so heinous to me that you agreed to let me kick you in the balls?”

Bruce didn’t have anything to say to that.

“Remember what you said?” _Now_ Jason was looking at Bruce. Bruce was stiff as a board. He nodded solemnly.

“If it wasn’t for you, I would have died on the street with junk running through my veins. Just like my worthless junkie parents.”

“Jason, that’s not—”

“That was actually one of the few things you ever said to me that wasn’t completely full of shit.” Jason smirked a pure black and hateful smirk. This was getting fucking _dark_ quickly. Jason had never seen Bruce this uncomfortable, not even during the sex talk when he was 13. “No, I didn’t die on the streets of Gotham. I died in a warehouse in Ethiopia: terrified, betrayed and brutalized.”

Bruce sat up and slammed the laptop shut. His hand was shaking. “Please come home.” he quavered.

Jason actually _laughed_. This was becoming fun in a sickening kind of way. “I killed 3 people today.” he prodded.

Bruce’s grip on the laptop tightened.

“You got a problem with that?” Jason asked.

“…You know I do.”

“They deserved it.”

Bruce took a deep, shaky breath. “Taking a life sends you down a dark path that’s hard to—”

“Pretty sure getting brutally beaten to death by a clown in front of my mother was worse for my mental health than merking some scumbag.” interrupted Jason. “Are we done here, or do you have any more stupid shit to say?”

“I—” Bruce looked like he was about to weep. “I’m sorry I failed you.”

“Well, that’s not going to stop me waking up screaming every night.” replied Jason. “So, it ain’t worth a whole lot.” Bruce was so out of his depth in this situation. Jason couldn’t fathom why Bruce was even here. Did he really think this could’ve gone well?

Bruce got up. He awkwardly stood there with the laptop for a while before sputtering out: “Goodbye.” He turned to leave.

“Don’t come back next year, asshole.” cursed Jason as Bruce headed towards the exit. “Oh, and Bruce?” Jason called as Bruce was halfway out the door. Bruce stopped, not looking back at him. He couldn’t. “This new kid… Don’t get him killed, please.”

Bruce went still for a few seconds, just long enough for Jason to take in how hard that hit him. “I won’t.” Bruce vowed. He left, slamming the door behind him.

 

 

An hour later, after he had time to come down from the intense high of verbally destroying Bruce, Jason sat at his kitchen table. He was reading the contract that Bruce slid under his door earlier. A part of him, a fucking huge part, wanted to burn it. Or rip it up. Or throw it in the trash. Maybe even fashion it into a little origami Bruce and throw it into the sea.

But he didn’t.

He neatly folded it up and put it in a drawer in his bedroom. Because a tiny part of Jason, a part he fucking hated, missed the kid who wrote that contract.


End file.
